“Oh!” Helen cried with a rapt, glowing face, laying a pleading hand on the hand holding the jade, “it must be so—it’s beautiful to believe it is so.”
“And if,” Latham continued, “one would try for the sake of justice, can’t you think that others would try, because of the love they had for the living they had left behind—who still needed them? I dare say that every one of us has at one time or another been conscious of some impalpable thing near us—some of us have believed it was a spirit guarding us.”
“Yes,” Helen whispered.
“If we knew,” Latham went on, “the way, we might understand what they wanted to tell us—if only we knew the way——”
Again there was a pause. Bransby shifted impatiently, and put his toy down with a slight clatter, but kept his hand on it still.
Latham spoke, his manner completely changed. He got up, and he spoke, almost abruptly. “Well, I am afraid I have bored you people sufficiently for to-night, and I have some rather important letters to write—if you will excuse me.”
“Of course,” Helen said, as he moved to the door, “but oh! you haven’t bored us, Dr. Latham.”
Latham smiled at her. “Thanks. I’ll take my cigar,” he added, picking it up.
“I shan’t be able to enjoy seeing you enjoy it,” Bransby protested.
“Try telepathy,” was the smiling rejoinder. “Good-night.”